This can't be real
by Scribe-of-Arda
Summary: That strange feeling when something just can't be real, just can't have happened, and so must be a dream... Two times in Legolas' life where he desperately hopes that what has happened is not real, has not happened, and the one time where he hoped above all else that it was.
1. Chapter 1

This can't be real

_I'm so sorry! It has been so long since I have published anything, and I know I promised you that story about a young Aragorn and Legolas, but a few weeks ago I decided that I really wasn't happy with the way the story was going, and so I cut 20,000 words from it and decided to rewrite the entire main plotline! Since then I have been reworking the story, and it has seemed to take a life of its own, coming to 46,000 words right now, and I am not finished! Hopefully it will only be a few more weeks until it is finished- I know where it is going now, and am a lot happier with it._

_But for now, here is a 3-part mini-series I have been thinking about for a while. This is partially based on personal experience (not what actually happens, because unfortunately I do not live in Middle Earth). But the horrible feeling when something goes really wrong, when you just stand there thinking 'this cannot be real', is something I think quite a few people may have experienced. So there is angst here, but maybe just a bit of hopefulness towards the end._

_This consists of three different oneshots, of different lengths. They are not chronological (well, the last two are. The first one takes place at any random time before the War of the Ring). These all centre around Legolas, and involve different people around him. Like many others, I assume Elladan, Elrohir and Legolas are all good friends. This is written book verse, meaning at the final battle in front of the Black Gate, the Dunedain and the sons of Elrond are there, and only Pippin is there, as in the books Merry stays behind in Minas Tirith._

_I did publish this chapter yesterday, but something on this site went funny and it came up with loads of lines of computer code or something, so here is the update._

_Disclaimer: None of it is mine. Wait…Wait a minute…I own Belhadron! He is actually my own character, so I hope you like him._

0-o-0-o-0

_Thunk_.

The arrow buried itself in the straw of the target, steady in the centre of the painted rings. It quivered for a moment, before stilling. At least, it was still until another arrow pierced the target right next to the first, setting both arrows trembling in the straw.

A third arrow buried itself in the target, and then more followed, until the centre ring was full with arrows. The target stilled, the arrows slowly stopping their quivering.

Legolas nodded slightly and shouldered his bow, walking forwards and beginning to carefully work the arrows out of the straw, checking each one for damage before slotting them back into his quiver. He sighed as he tugged at the arrows, which were firmly embedded and hard to get out of the tightly woven straw.

Legolas had taken to practicing archery late in the evenings, when the sun was setting and things were relatively quiet, at least for Mirkwood. If he was being honest, he probably could not call this practice. He knew he could make the shots blindfolded by now. Yet it was an escape from the…he didn't really know what. He guessed it was just an escape from everything else that was happening right now.

The orcs were pressing on their borders once more. The southern woods had long since been abandoned to the darkness, and the elves retreated to the northern forests. At the moment there was a brief lull in the fighting, and several hunting patrols had gone out a few days back, intent on restocking the larders in the stronghold. Legolas had not gone, as he needed to be in the stronghold if an attack happened. His father had ridden out instead.

Legolas was still sure his father was irked by the fact his advisors would not let him ride out often to fight, unless there was dire need. Legolas honestly thought it made sense, but he would not tell his father that, not when Thranduil was pacing up and down his office, all too often flipping a dagger or some other dangerous object in his hand.

But Legolas also knew how much it angered his father when he rode out, away from the palace, and Thranduil could not. It was not so much that Thranduil could not leave- after all, he was King. Yet Legolas suspected that his father hated it when he came back with wounds, or when elves were killed out in the forest. Thranduil was not there, he was not able to do something about whatever had happened.

Legolas sighed, moving back to his position on the archery field. It was precisely these thoughts that he tried to avoid by coming out to the archery field when nobody was around. He took out his bow and an arrow, and nocked the arrow, raising it and drawing back the string.

These moves were so instinctual now; he did not need to think about any of it. It was just him and the target, the cold calmness and focus that often came over him in battle settling over him now. The arrow fled from the bow, striking the centre of the target yet again.

But as Legolas reached for another arrow, a shout pushed through his focus and made him turn. A figure was running down the steps onto the archery field, his dark hair flying around his face. "Legolas!" he called out. "Thank the Valar I have found you."

Legolas shouldered his bow, realizing from the hurried steps of the elf and the fact that his hand was resting on his sword hilt, even in the relative safety of the stronghold, that something was wrong. He reached the elf as he stepped onto the field.

"What is it?" he asked. "What has happened?" His hand inched towards his quiver at the thought that the lull in the fighting was over, that the orcs were pressing once more. "Orcs?"

"Aye," said Belhadron. "But not in the way you are imagining." He took a deep breath. "Legolas, one of the hunting parties was attacked. They've just made it back. It's bad."

Legolas grimaced, and turned to climb the steps up to the stronghold with Belhadron. "How bad?" he asked, his voice almost sounding resigned.

"No fatalities so far," said Belhadron, his voice tired. And he was tired. All of the warriors were tired right now. The past few days had been the only chance for them to get some sort of rest. Even then, most of them were so alert and tense, waiting for the next attack, that sometimes attempting to rest was pointless.

"So far?" asked Legolas. "Ai Valar. How far south was the hunting party when they were attacked?"

"If you're thinking we strayed over into too dark areas, you're wrong," said Belhadron. "The party was over the elf-path, but not by far. They were tracking a party of deer."

Legolas grimaced. "Please tell me they at least brought back some of the meat," he said. He reached the top of the steps and ducked inside, turning left to head for the healing wards. "We need as much as we can get, if the orcs resume their attacks. Do you think I should recall the other hunting parties?"

"They may be in danger as well," said Belhadron. "But anyone sent out to recall them will have to travel in groups, and that will be slower. They are all due back in a few days, anyway. And yes, they brought back some supplies, though obviously not as much as they could have…given the circumstances."

Legolas nodded and sighed again, turning down a corridor towards the healing wards. "Who is hurt?" he asked. "And how badly? If we have many more warriors unable to be on duty, we will be at risk if there are further attacks."

"We have enough for now," said Belhadron. He looked up as they neared the doors to the healing wards. Legolas reached out and grabbed one of the door handles, and suddenly Belhadron grabbed hold of his arm. "Legolas, just stop for a minute."

Legolas paused, looking back at his friend. "What else is there, _mellon-nin_?"

Belhadron sighed. "The hunting party that came back was the King's. I'm sorry, I didn't know how to tell you this before. I didn't really want to."

"What do you mean?" asked Legolas, his voice carefully guarded. He was not letting himself think about all the possibilities that were trying to spring into his mind, not until he heard the words from his friend.

"The King has been injured," said Belhadron softly. "It's bad, Legolas. I'm sorry."

Legolas suddenly felt tired. He didn't do anything, just stood there with one hand resting on the door handle to the room where his father was lying, hurt. His hand clenched around the handle briefly. Maybe if he didn't open the door, maybe if he didn't go in, then it would not be true. Then this would be like a bad dream, and he would wake up.

It almost seemed like a dream, actually. That strange, slightly blurred around the edges feeling that dreams have, even Elven dreams, was here now. Yet the feeling was almost recognizable as well. Too many times he had had that brief, absurd moment when he thought that it was a dream, that whatever had happened was so bad that it was not real. But this time…

This time was the first time he desperately wanted that feeling to be true.

Belhadron stepped forwards. "Legolas?" he asked. He knew any words of comfort would not do much. After a while, all the words blended into one meaningless line, essentially saying '_IwishIcoulddosomethingbutIcan'tsosorryanyway'_. He, along with most of the warriors, had learnt a long time ago that the best comfort was sometimes not something you could say.

Legolas looked up. "This can't be real," he murmured. "Ai Valar, this can't be real."

Belhadron grimaced. "What am I meant to say to that, _mellon-nin_?" He stepped forwards and gently pulled Legolas away from the doors. "Honestly, Legolas, what can I say to that?"

Legolas smiled a half smile. "I don't know," he said. He leant with his back against the wall and ran a hand through his hair. "Ai Valar."

"I know," said Belhadron. He moved and stood next to Legolas, leaning back against the wall with him. "Do you want to go inside?"

Legolas shook his head. "Not just yet," he muttered. He looked over at Belhadron. "Is it just me that thinks this is the wrong way round? My father…" He trailed off. "I am always the one injured, the one who ends up in those rooms. Not my father. This…This just all feels like it can't be real. Like it shouldn't be real."

Belhadron nodded. "I know the feeling. That time when I was recalled from patrol because you were badly wounded and I was needed, I spent the entire ride back here thinking they had gotten it wrong, and that I would turn up to find you about to lead out another patrol, and that we would have to hunt down whoever had gotten the message wrong. I was honestly convinced of this, until I rode up to the gates to see the King waiting there for me. So I understand it, Legolas. Maybe not quite in the same way, but aye, I know the feeling."

Legolas smiled. "Thank you," he said softly. Belhadron shrugged.

"I am only doing it to save myself," he deadpanned. "I don't want to have to deal with your father's council all on my own."

Legolas chuckled. "You are still going to have to deal with some of them," he said. His small smile dimmed. "There is going to be a lot that needs doing soon."

"Aye, I know," said Belhadron, looking over at the doors. "But we'll manage. We always do."

Legolas nodded and sighed, leaning further back into the wall. He knew better than to ask Belhadron whether his father would be alright, whether everything would be fine. After so long serving as a warrior, he knew it was a pointless question to ask. They didn't really have much say over how things would turn out.

"I swear this is one of the worst parts of being a warrior," said Belhadron, almost as if he could read Legolas' thoughts. Legolas glanced over at him.

Belhadron smiled. "Well, one of the worst parts apart from the injuries and the risk of dying, but I do really hate this part as well." He grinned at Legolas' chuckle. "The waiting, knowing that you can't do anything anymore."

There was a lot more that could be said, of course. About that horrible feeling when you realize that it has been taken out of your hands, the cold realization that you can no longer do what it is you are meant to do; you can no longer protect the people you want to protect. That is one of the worst feelings, because being so helpless becomes harder and harder the longer you fight.

Legolas sighed, looking over at the door he had yet to go through. "It's almost like if I don't go through the door, it can't be real. It's like if I stay out here, then there's a chance it isn't real."

Belhadron smiled slightly. "Not your best logic, I admit," he said. Legolas looked over and smiled at him, and Belhadron grinned. "But then again, it is not the worst I have heard from you. Yet you know that is not how it works."

Legolas grimaced. "I know, I know," he muttered. "But I wish it did."

"Legolas…" Belhadron's tone was warning, and Legolas pushed off from the wall with a sigh.

"I know!" he snapped. "Ai Valar, I know. I can't change this, can I? No matter how much I wish I could, I can't." He gritted his teeth in frustration, and turned around to face Belhadron. "Ai Valar, I hate this."

Belhadron nodded and pushed off the wall to stand beside Legolas. "Do you want me to knock?" he asked with a grin on his face. Legolas managed to roll his eyes.

"I can knock on a door, Belhadron," he muttered. Yet when he went to the door, it was a lot harder. He grimaced and felt Belhadron's hand fall on his shoulder. Raising one hand, he knocked quietly on the door.

After a few seconds it opened, and a quiet conversation ensued between the healer on the other side of the door and Legolas. A few moments later the door widened and both Legolas and Belhadron slipped inside.

Sometimes the hardest thing to do is just to realize that whatever is happening is real, and that you are not going to wake up anytime soon. After that, everything will not be fixed, but it may be a little better.

_To Be Continued..._

_Next chapter will be up tomorrow! As always, reviews are welcome._


	2. Chapter 2

This can't be real- Part 2

_Next part up! This is a bit shorter than the first part, and deals with a different time when probably a lot of elves in Mirkwood were hoping that what was happening wasn't real. Thank you to everyone who has read, and remember, reviews are really, really welcome. They honestly make my day (and I did not have a fab day today, having started school again and finding out that I am in no classes with my close friends, and that I have a lot of work coming my way. Yippee!)_

_Also, if you could let me know what you think of my OC Belhadron, that would be much appreciated. I am planning more things for him, but I would really like to know your opinion of him first._

_Disclaimer: see Chapter 1_

0-o-0-o-0

_Year 2460 of the Third Age_

It was just an ordinary day. Of course, saying that often invited a lot of trouble, but now, a few hundred years into the Watchful Peace, an elf in Mirkwood could cautiously say today was going to be a good day, and not cause everyone in the room to freeze and look towards the door, as if half expecting someone to come in with new of an orc attack or spiders over the elf path.

Legolas sighed and ran his hand through his hair as he sat at his desk, quill in his other hand. He looked up and glanced out of the window, glaring at the sunny woods outside when he was stuck inside. He had been out on patrol in the south until recently, but still did not like being sat at his desk when he could be outside.

Although the Necromancer had fled Dol Guldur for nearly four hundred years, there was still darkness in the forests of Mirkwood. For the first few years, nothing had changed much; the spiders had still tried to move further and further north, and there had still been fighting beneath the trees. But gradually the elves won back, with the power of the Necromancer gone, thanks to Mithrandir. Legolas could still remember the feast they had thrown in honour of what the wizard had done for them.

Yet still the elves of Mirkwood were cautious in their optimism. Patrols still went out regularly, scouting far south past the mountains to ensure that the darkness was not returning. And so far, the patrols were coming back with nothing substantial.

Legolas sighed again as he read over what he had just written. He could not seem to concentrate today, on anything at all. Even taking to the archery fields and filling the centre of a target with arrows had not managed to help, as it usually did.

He was no fool. He knew the Watchful Peace would not last forever. The Necromancer had not been vanquished, it had only fled from Dol Guldur, and someday it would be back. But he, like so many of the other elves who had seen so much fighting, so much war, he hoped each day that they would be able to have that day as well. That they could hold on for a little longer.

And then suddenly everything changed, though nothing changed at the same time. Nothing was physically different around him; the room was still exactly the same, as were the woods outside. But everything was different.

It was like a cold hand had passed over everything, coming from the south and passing over to the north. A cold hand that had leeched a little of the colour out of not just the room, but everything. And suddenly it seemed as if the sun wasn't shining anymore, even when you glanced out of the window and you could still see it in the sky.

And Legolas knew what this was, instinctively, as he had felt the same presence depart nearly four hundred years ago, and he knew what had returned to the southern forests and why it suddenly seemed like the sun was not working or why everything suddenly felt muffled.

The Necromancer had returned to Dol Guldur. The Watchful Peace was over. And Legolas didn't know what to do.

He didn't know how long he sat there, his hand poised with the quill in it, staring blankly at the wall as the sensation solidified and became more real. He didn't know what to do, whether he should go outside or stay sitting. He was sure that most of the elves in the stronghold would have felt the same thing that he did, and realized what has happened.

Not all of them, though, realized Legolas. Those born during the Watchful Peace, the elflings and the younger elves, they were not there when the Necromancer had first fled. They did not understand how dark the forest had been before, even if they had been told it time and time again. They did not know what would be in store for them now.

The door to Legolas' study was flung open and a dark haired elf nearly ran into the room. He stopped when he saw Legolas look up at him, and the quill drop from his fingers.

"Legolas, please tell me you did not just feel the same thing I felt," Belhadron said, almost frantically. "_Saes_, this cannot be happening. This can't be real."

Legolas nodded and stood from his chair abruptly. "This isn't fair," he muttered angrily, his jaw clenched. He strode to the window and leant on the sill, his entire body tense. "Ai Valar, this isn't fair."

Belhadron didn't say anything, just came and stood nearby. He looked out at the woods and chuckled morosely. "Things don't look very different, do they?" he muttered. "And yet everything has changed."

"Aye," said Legolas. He grimaced. "Please tell me this isn't real."

Belhadron shrugged. "I almost would. I am having a hard time believing it as well, _mellon-nin_. It feels like this is a dream, like if I concentrate hard enough I will just wake up and this won't have happened."

"I know," muttered Legolas. He gripped the sill tightly, his knuckles white. "This isn't fair."

Abruptly he jerked upright and turned to Belhadron. "Why couldn't we have just a little longer?" he shouted. "Why not? What have we done to deserve this, to deserve _him_ coming back?"

"I don't know," said Belhadron through gritted teeth. He moved to the edge of the window and looked out, his hand finding the side of the frame as if to hold himself up, to prevent the cracks from spreading.

Legolas shut his eyes briefly, trying to hold back the flood that he could feel building up. He just didn't want to believe this, and yet with every passing second it became more true. He looked over at Belhadron, and his expression was almost pleading. "Why couldn't we have had just a few more years?" he asked softly. "Was that too much to ask? Ai Valar! Haven't we given enough?" He sighed and leant heavily on the windowsill. "Haven't we paid enough?"

"Haven't we paid enough?" echoed Belhadron scathingly. He grimaced and shifted his weight, as if he couldn't bring himself to stand still. "Elbereth. We have paid far too much."

A sudden anger came over him and he clenched his fists. "Why?" he asked bitterly. "What have we done to deserve all of this? We had space! We had time without the constant fighting, without the blood and the death and the horrors and everything we have grown used to seeing! And now it has been ripped away. Why? Have we failed in some way? Have we erred, is this our fault?"

Legolas didn't answer, save for a long sigh. Belhadron paced up and down the study, and then without warning snatched up a wine goblet from the desk and threw it, as hard as he could, at the wall. The goblet clattered off the stone with a loud _clang_.

Legolas watched as Belhadron turned away from the goblet and, uttering a curse under his breath, slammed both hands against the wall, as if he could try and push it away. He stopped there, leaning with his hands flat against the wall, his head down. His breaths came sharply as he momentarily shut his eyes against it all.

And Legolas, from where he leant against the windowsill, reached up and grasped his friend's shoulder. Belhadron looked over at him, and the blond archer was not surprised to see a tear roll down his friend's cheek. He knew ones were falling down his own as well.

Belhadron managed a weak grin, which Legolas returned, before dropping his head back down and breathing deeply. His entire body was tense and rigid, his other hand resting on the hilt of his sword, though he did not even know it.

Legolas looked up as the door creaked open and Thranduil looked into the room. The King's hardened gaze took in the scene in front of him, the two elves both standing like the only thing holding them up was the wall, and maybe each other.

Legolas caught his eye and nodded slightly. Thranduil studied his son carefully for a few seconds, noticing the anger and frustration and the slight blankness in his eyes that showed that he was still hoping, still clinging onto the idea that this was not real. Belhadron was next to him, and Thranduil expected nothing less from his son's second when he saw the wine goblet on the floor, and his hands up against the wall like he had slammed it. Everyone knew Belhadron was quick to laugh and jest, but Thranduil knew how quickly that could turn into anger, faced with something so demanding and huge that laughter does nothing.

Thranduil nodded back at Legolas and moved out of the room, carefully shutting the door behind him. He too had felt the change; how could he not? Yet he had spent far more of his life in the darkness; he had suffered blows like this before. Compared to the return of Sauron after the Last Alliance, this was a minor blow. They had known it was coming.

And yet the shattered glass in his study, from where he had thrown it across the room in his anger, proved that he too was furious about this, as well as a whole other mixture of emotions that he couldn't place. Despair was in there, as was guilt, he was sure of it. And maybe…

No matter how long he had lived, or how much he had been through, there was still a little bit of hope left in him. But this was not a _good_ hope, a hope that they could still fight this. This hope was sly and misleading, making him think that maybe things weren't real, that this hadn't really happened.

Thranduil sighed and began to walk away from the room. He would talk to Legolas soon- defence plans needed to be drawn up, strategies had to be discussed. But for now, it would take a little time for him, for everyone, including himself, to realise that this was true. That this was real. That they had failed.

Hope is not always a good thing. It keeps you fighting, yes, and it keeps you going when it looks like there is no end in sight. But sometimes, sometimes when things become so bad, hope is there to soften the blow, to allow you those moments when you can still believe that this isn't real. And whilst it is comforting to think this, whilst this takes the edge of the pain or the misery or the guilt that you feel, it still doesn't make it a dream.

_To Be Continued..._

_I also wanted to point out with this how sometimes words can be absolutely useless when trying to comfort something- this is something I have found out. If someone is really set on what they are thinking or feeling, words aren't always enough to change their thoughts or actions. For me, I just prefer it when someone is there. They don't have to try and reassure me, convince me that this will be alright or that things will get better. They just have to be there, and acknowledge that whatever it is that is happening is bad._

_Next part will be up in two days- a Friday for me. As always, please review._


	3. Chapter 3

This can't be real- Part 3

_A/N: This is the final part to this miniseries, and I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read this. This was a little harder for me to write about- after all, this is a little more of a sensitive and delicate topic, and I wanted to definitely get the ideas and emotions right. So thank you all for your kind words about this miniseries, I really appreciate it._

_As I said before, this is a sensitive topic, and what I have written so far is rather sad. Hopefully this chapter will be a little different- I want to try and end things on a hopeful note, and I think this chapter will do that._

_As always, reviews are very welcome. Thank you again to those who have stuck with this. Hopefully the longer story I am working on will be up within a month, though I am having trouble finding the time to write now I am back at school._

_Disclaimer: see Chapter 1_

0-o-0-o-0

_25__th__ of March, Year 3019 of the Third Age_

It was over.

It was done.

Around them the armies of Sauron scattered, the orcs running heedlessly away from the bright swords of the men of Gondor and Rohan, as well as the small group of Dunedain, one hobbit, the sons of Elrond, an Elf and a Dwarf.

The Eagles had already disappeared into the East with Gandalf, searching for Frodo and Sam. There was still hope for them, still hope that they could be found and brought back. Some of the men Sauron had bought to fight for him were still pressing on the army, but with the fall of Sauron, with the destruction of Barad-Dur, a new hope was given to their army now, and they fought fiercely.

Legolas had long since run out of arrows, and was at the forefront of the battle, his knives spinning and slashing in his hands. The orcs had run, some groups breaking off and chasing after them. The men in front of him, the Easterlings and Haradrim that were still disillusioned of Sauron's power kept fighting, but they were wavering.

Over to the left of him, Aragorn raised Anduril with a rallying cry and their army surged forwards. Finally the men broke, their line scattering as they turned and ran. Their leader, a huge swarthy man with tangled hair, fell to his knees in front of Aragorn.

It was over.

Legolas watched as Aragorn, fully the King he had been destined to be, stepped forwards. He stood tall, taller than anyone else on the battlefield, and the strength that Legolas had seen in him for a while was now visible for everyone to see. And in that moment, Legolas felt a strange pride for his friend.

He glanced around quickly, his mind still on full alert for the battle, the adrenaline still buzzing. Gimli was safe, walking across the dusty plain that was strewn with bodies, both orcs and their men. Aragorn he knew was alright, and Eomer was there as well, coming to stand beside the soon-to-be King. Imrahil was limping but didn't look too bad, and Elladan and Elrohir were standing together a little way away, speaking quietly. Both looked tired and dirty, but otherwise unhurt. He couldn't see Pippin, but Legolas was sure the small hobbit was fine. He would be hard to see in the crowd of men anyway.

The adrenaline started to fade from him as he took in the aftermath of the battle. It was bloody, as always, and messy. A lot of people were dead, a lot of good people. A lot more were wounded. Nearly everybody would have some sort of wound, including himself. Legolas could feel the sting of small cuts over his arms and blood trickling down his leg, but he knew they were only superficial, maybe needing a stitch or two at the worst.

Of course, it wasn't actually over. There was still so much to do, so much to clean up and repair, to make the land whole again. There would be wounded from today, and the dead to bury, and orc carcasses to burn, and…so much more to do. But it was _over_, in the sense that the Ring had been destroyed and Sauron had fallen, and the darkness they had been fighting for all of their lives was shattered. Sauron had fallen.

Legolas stared, and his keen eyes found the mass that was Orodruin in the distance. It was still belching out smoke, but Barad-Dur, the dark shape that had stood nearby, was no more. He slipped his knives back into their sheaths as he stood there and stared.

Was it over?

Was this real?

He wanted it to be, of course. He wanted this to be real, for this to have really happened. But he had spent so long fighting it all, had spent so long with two knives or a bow in his hand, had spent so long with the shadow of Sauron hanging over his head, hanging over his home, that for it to be gone...

His legs felt weak and they buckled. Legolas fell to his knees on the bloody battlefield, amidst the corpses and the dust. He didn't think he had the strength left in him to get back up. It had just drained out of him, just fled when he realized that maybe this was real. Maybe they had actually won.

He heard startled voices from nearby, and then the sound of running feet. A figure appeared in front of him and Legolas recognised Elladan crouched down in front of him.

"Legolas?" he was saying, and the sound was almost muffled. "Legolas, are you hurt?"

Legolas blinked, and shook his head. "No," he said softly. He put out a hand and pushed himself up from the ground, avoiding the patches of dark blood. He stumbled slightly, the gash in his leg throbbing fiercely as he put weight on the leg, and Legolas felt a hand grab hold of his arm and haul him upwards until he was standing.

"Legolas!" Elladan was shaking his shoulder now, looking concerned. Legolas felt the grip on his arm vanish and then Elrohir was in front of him as well. "Legolas?"

The blond elf shook his head. "Is this real?" he asked softly, his gaze taking in the blood and the carnage surrounding them. "This can't be real."

"What?" asked Elrohir. He looked down and suddenly noticed the blood trickling down Legolas' leg. "You are hurt," he said pointedly, crouching down and pressing down gently on the gash.

The sharp pain helped jolt Legolas back to the present time, and he grimaced slightly. "It is not much," he said. "Nothing compared to what others may have. It can wait."

"Aye, I suppose it can," said Elladan. Elrohir quickly pulled a strip of cloth from the hem of his tunic and wrapped it around Legolas' leg. He stood up again, and turned to look around the battlefield.

"It is over," he murmured. "It is done."

"Does any of this feel like it isn't real?" asked Legolas hesitantly. "Like this isn't happening?"

"Aye," muttered Elladan. "But it's over. It really is." The three elves stood there, amidst the wounded and the dead, on the edge of the army that was slowly drawing together around the three banners.

Legolas drew in a breath. "I almost don't want to believe it," he said. "Just in case, just in case it isn't true, or the darkness comes back." And it was true. He guessed he was afraid of it not really being over, of the darkness returning and the ensuing despair. It was like his mind was not letting him fully believe it, because it was so good, because it didn't want to fall that far if it turned out to be untrue.

"All my life," Legolas murmured. "I never believed I would live to see this day. I always thought I would die defending my home, die under the trees of Mirkwood. I never believed I would be alive at this time, let alone _here_, outside Mordor. It is still hard to believe."

Elladan's hand found Legolas' shoulder and he gripped it tightly. "What are we meant to do now?" he asked softly.

"I don't know," said Elrohir. "I never thought I would live past this point," he added with a morose chuckle.

"Me neither," said Legolas with a small smile. "I don't know what to do now." He just couldn't quite believe it was real. But then Legolas saw Aragorn out of the corner of his eye, saw the banner that Arwen made, the banner of the King, high up on the hill. The banner of Rohan, the running white horse on green, and the banner of Dol Amroth, the white swan ship on blue, stood beside it.

Ai Valar.

It was real. It was over.

Elbereth.

His legs felt weak again and Legolas willed them to support himself. He couldn't think anything else, didn't know what else to think. It was over. It was done. It was real.

Elladan looked over to where Aragorn was directing people in a thousand different directions, probably sending out people to look for wounded and others to do all the other things that needed doing right now. As Elrohir and Legolas turned to look, Aragorn glanced over and saw the three of them together. He nodded at them, and the three elves, sharing the same mixture of pride and worry for the man, nodded back.

"He will need help," said Elladan softly. Without asking each other, the three elves began to make their way over to where Aragorn was standing.

"That is what brothers are for," pointed out Elrohir. "And friends," he added, grinning at Legolas. Legolas smiled back, stumbling slightly as he jarred his wounded leg, and Elrohir caught his arm.

They didn't say much else; there was no need to. All of them understood how the others were feeling. After all, they had all been fighting for so long, and now a strange mixture of relief, pride, doubt and a weary sadness was settling over them.

The relief was because it was over. They didn't have to fight Sauron and his forces anymore, not really. There may be skirmishes, battles to drive out the last of the orcs, but the war was over.

Pride, because they had won. They had done it; they had beaten Sauron and had destroyed the Ring. All of those that had been lost over the years, they hadn't failed them. They had done it.

The doubt was there because still none of them were completely sure that this was real, that they weren't dreaming. It was a strange feeling, like walking through a dream and knowing that you should wake up. And Legolas found it strange that it almost felt like hope, the feeling, though of course they were not hoping for this to not be real. Though maybe, in a small part of their mind, they were, because for it to be real was huge and terrifying, as well as wonderful.

And then there was the weary sadness, because it was over, finally, and they could stop. They could stop running, stop fighting, stop defending and protecting what they loved with their lives because that was the only way to keep it safe. And yet so many had died on the road here, so many had fallen, and maybe there was a little guilt in there as well at this thought. After all, why should they deserve to be here, and not those who died waiting to see this day?

The three elves reached Aragorn, and he briefly pulled all of them into an embrace, before looking at them with a small, exhausted smile. "Is this real?" he asked softly. "I am having trouble believing all of this."

Legolas chuckled slightly, seeing on his friend's face the same strange mixture that was running through him, and he allowed the relief and the joy to fully run through him, dispelling the doubt, or the hope, whichever it was called. "It is real," he confirmed. "It is over, _mellon-nin_. It is done."

0-o-0-o-0

Hope is a survival technique. Hope is what can keep you going in a situation when you cannot see the end of the tunnel, when you are not sure that an end even exists. Hope doesn't always give you strength, but it can keep you on your feet for just a little longer.

Yet hope can be a sly thing as well. When things go wrong, when despair and guilt and a thousand other human emotions take over, hope is there to point out that maybe things aren't real, that maybe this isn't really happening. And this is still survival- you cannot cope at that moment with how bad things are, with what is happening, so you turn to hope, and allow yourself a few precious moments where you can think it isn't real. But anymore than that and it is dangerous. Hope cannot change a reality into a dream.

But sometimes, this feeling that it isn't real does not herald something so bad that you cannot cope. Sometimes, you cannot believe it is real because it is too good, because things are finally going right, for once. You do not want this to be snatched away from you, letting you fall and hurt yourself, so the doubt, or hope, is there to stop you rising too far. But this is when it doesn't hurt to believe it is real. This is when you can wake up from the dream instantly, because the protection your mind is offering you is not needed, not on a good day.

Hope cannot change reality into a dream. But sometimes, on a good day, it doesn't have to. Reality works just fine.

_The End_


End file.
